Rendezvous with a Ghost
by BruisedSmile
Summary: The quieter star-crossed lovers of the Buffyverse. [Nominated at the 2013 Willowy Goodness Awards]
1. A Feeling

The quieter star-crossed lovers of the Buffyverse tell their story. Set around Season 5.

* * *

**Rendezvous with a Ghost - A Feeling**

* * *

It was just a feeling.

Falling back a couple of steps from the group, Willow squinted over her shoulder around the busy town. They were out on a truly scorching Saturday and the shopping streets were crammed with hyper kids, frazzled parents, lazily scattered packs of lounging students, and amorous young couples who were making full use of the uninterrupted time. The burning summer sun bounced off sharp glass and harsh metal in blinding flashes, making her draw her hand up to shield her eyes.

The sounds of her bickering friends faded into the background of her distracted mind.

"For the last time, no." The slinky blonde pulled a delicate hand through her long free-flowing hair, purposefully ignoring the thunderous scowl directed at the side of her head by the stroppy brunette walking next to her.

"This is _so_ not fair!" Dawn whined loudly, quickening her pace to keep up with her sister. The young teenager did not take kindly to being brushed off. "Everyone else is going! It's just one over-night trip and I can take of myself just fine. The hostel is only about an hour away and I'll be surrounded by people the whole time." Her tact had swapped to a sweeter, encouraging tone as she attempted to win her stubborn sibling over with rational persuasion. She turned big innocent eyes to Buffy's impassive face imploringly, playing every manipulative trick she knew.

Buffy sighed, her steps slowing to a halt as she finally caught the girl's pleading gaze. Laying a placating hand on her arm she tried to soften her words. "It's just not an option for us at the moment. I know it feels like a normal thing you should get to do, but Dawn - we can't take the risk. You know that. I need you where I can protect you."

Her voice had dropped to a firm tone that made it quite clear this was the final say on the subject. With weary resignation, Buffy watched her sister's face darken as the words sunk in, face scrunching in mutinous anger that would be unleashed at her, as usual. She was getting ready for a tantrum, and Buffy was quickly losing patience with her immature moods.

"I don't need you to look after me like a little kid! Just cause you're the _Slayer- _" The girl poured as much derision and mockery into the word as she could, causing Buffy to yank her elbow and pull her to the side of the busy pavement with a warning glare.

"Seriously, announce it louder!" she hissed, tendons in her gripping arm bulging slightly with tension. Dawn winced and Buffy quickly released her. When the teenager met her eyes again, indignant tears gleamed in her defiant scowl.

"What's the point in staying safe, when it makes me a social leper in school! Just 'cause you're a freak, you want to make everyone else as unpopular as you! You're ruining my life!" With a last resentful look, she spun around with a flick of her long chocolate waves and flounced away from Buffy, ignoring the awkward hesitation of the rest of their friends as she pushed past them.

"Dawn, where are you going?" Buffy called after her sister.

"To go shopping for clothes which I'll never get to wear in the company of any other _normal _human beings! Ever!" she shot back shrilly, before running across the road to disappear into the crowds on the other side of the street.

Buffy rolled her eyes, trying to disguise the sting of her sister's words. She felt Xander move behind her to lay a comforting hand on her back.

"Jeez, what is it about mortal teenage girls? They always manage to hit that note that feels like a needle in your eardrum."

All except Willow turned to cast a look at Anya who was pulling her hand away from her ear. Unconcerned with Xander's furiously wiggling eyebrows as he tried to silently signal to his oblivious girlfriend that now was not the time for her pithy insights, the ex-vengeance demon carried on. "And that hurts so much more than you might think you know. There was this wronged mistress in Vienna 1878 and I remember she wished for her pianist boyfriend –"

"Anyway! I think sugar-packed drinks are called for! Right?" Xander interrupted loudly, spreading his arms wide to the assembled group enthusiastically. Buffy turned back to her friends and managed a smile, pushing the ever-present worry to the back of her mind for now.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan." She grinned gratefully at her buoyant best friend. The stress of dealing with Dawn's increasing rebelliousness under the constant threat and duty of keeping her _alive_, was a worthy excuse for more sugar than the human body could handle if ever there was one.

Anya crossed her arms and shrugged in agreement, slightly miffed that she had been denied her tale of past glory.

"Great! Set course for Espresso Pump, Mr Zulu!" Xander announced, pointing a finger down the street before giving a mock salute. "All power to the engines!"

Buffy laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly, while Anya frowned in confusion as another pop culture reference zoomed over her head. Xander quickly sneaked an arm around her waist and attempted to explain the wonders of the _Trek_ to his woefully unenlightened girlfriend, as the group started moving forward again.

Tara giggled at Xander's antics, immensely thankful for his irrepressibly ability to lighten the mood and ease the awkwardness of the sisters' fight. She looked around to locate her own girlfriend, only to find her hanging back from the group, frowning at the crowded streets around them.

"Willow?"

The redhead seemed to snap round at her voice, searching eyes blinking as they focused on Tara's worried face. She quickly smiled reassuringly, though she couldn't quite wipe the lingering distraction from her mind.

"I-I think we're g-going for coffee and sugar," the blonde explained with a small uncertain grin, unsure whether Willow had caught the preceding conversation.

"Great! Count me in!" she declared with a bright grin before she stepped forward to scoop up Tara's hand as they quickly followed the rest of their friends through the throng. The blonde almost blushed at the brazen display of affection, tightening her fingers gently around Willow's. The smiling girls slipped closer together as they caught up to Xander and Buffy, who had joined in on the marathon task of acquainting a reluctant Anya with the finer points of cult science-fiction.

Willow had in fact only been vaguely aware of Dawn's dramatic storm-off. They seemed to be arguing increasingly often recently, and she hated to see how much it was taking out of her best friend. Her mom's death had been the closest Willow had ever seen Buffy to breaking, but she had somehow managed to pull herself back. Just like with Angel before. She was always so brave, forced to be strong, to keep fighting. Yet Willow deeply feared that if she lost her sister too, it might be the final blow she could never recover from. And she wouldn't let that happen to Buffy.

It was still a bit of a head-trip to know the truth, and it stirred up some pretty conflicting emotions in its wake. Willow wasn't sure how she felt about having her past re-written. A much hidden part of her was really quite angry and deeply upset that her memories had been altered and messed with like that. What gave anything that right? Of course, she would have loved and protected Dawn even if she wasn't super-imposed into their past lives. That was just part and parcel of who Willow was. She cared, about everyone, so much. Perhaps almost too much, and too easily. But her memories were who she was too. And they were private, special and precious. And sometimes they were her only refuge. All she had left.

Zoning out of the conversation again, she sneaked another glance over her shoulder. She didn't know why she kept feeling it. Like she was being watched. A warmth on her back from a set of eyes she could never quite catch in return. There was nothing malevolent in the sensation, nothing that sent her Hellmouth radar tingling, nothing that put her protective magic on edge. Still, it felt – lost. A forgotten sadness. Something that kept prodding at the locked door in her soul, nudging gently as if it recognised it. Something they couldn't quite leave behind.

A glimpse of dark auburn hair. A flash of a rusting blue van. A worn black guitar case slung over the shoulder of a passing music student. Everything her eyes kept darting to on every busy street, at every corner – always searching, ever seeking out, against her desperate will and command. Again and again. Over and over.

No, she _wasn't_ seeking. She wasn't. Willow glanced down at the delicate hand wrapped around hers. The spun silver bracelet that she had bought for her last birthday, sparkled daintily around Tara's wrist, quietly announcing their love and commitment. And that was how it should be. Squeezing her fingers, almost in physical assurance for herself, Willow leaned in to press a quick light kiss to her girlfriend's cheek. She smiled sweetly as the shy witch gave her a look of happy surprise.

Tara wasn't used to them being this affectionate out in public, and while she didn't know what had taken over Willow, she was thrilled at every touch and smile from the beautiful redhead next to her.

A warm happiness floated through Willow, comforting and filling every part of her. She had Tara. She was with Tara. She loved Tara. The declarations were sent down deep to her defiant unconscious, to the persistent little voice that refused to hear the words of her heart. Her heart that was beating for the sweet, stunning, impossibly caring, wonderful girl beside her. And only for her.

Everything that was pushed way down to muffle the untameable urge that kept her ever searching. Kept her seeking. Willow turned her face away towards the street, trying to lift the thoughtful frown from her features. She was happy. She was where she belonged.

Then why did her heart skip a beat as a shimmer of sunlight glanced off a studded bracelet across the street. One blink and it was gone.

The lock creaked.

**~o~**


	2. A Name

**Rendezvous with a Ghost - A Name  
**

* * *

The looks were the worst.

Xander's immediately guilty expression as he silently cursed the slip of tongue. Buffy's sharp glare at their friend's sometimes spectacular foot-in-mouth syndrome, before her features quickly shifted to concerned sympathy as she glanced over to check the damage. Maybe she was hoping to find that Willow had somehow missed the entire thoughtless, throw-away remark.

Giles avoided her eye altogether, keeping well out of it. Not that she could blame him.

Awkward pause, thy name is the 'ex-boyfriend'. Also known as _'the-one-we-shall-not-mention-for-fear-Willow-will-go-crazy-magicgirl-again'_. She was still amazed they had forgiven her so quickly for the havoc she had wreaked with that spell. Maybe they felt bad they had been urging her so much to move on. To forget. But it seemed not even magic could dislodge him from her heart and thoughts.

Even Anya had the rarely seen remarkable presence of mind to change the subject. Or maybe passing references to the wreckage of Willow's relationships held no interest for her, even worth a tactless comment over.

Xander sent her an apologetic look. Willow managed a light smile back, assuring him of the huge non-event it was for her. She felt Tara tense slightly beside her, soft hand reaching out to carefully clasp her own in a tight embrace, as close to a possessive reflex as the gentle witch ever got. It was a sort of unspoken rule that his memory was left in the shadows of the past, acknowledged as a sensitive point and especially one to be avoided around the _new _girlfriend. She squeezed back reassuringly, though she couldn't quite bring herself to meet the shy worried glance the blonde sent her way.

The conversation quickly moved on, returning to the latest plan of action for dealing with an apocalyptic, fashion-queen, Hell God and keeping her away from the youngest member of their family. With a last squeeze and smile, Willow broke away from Tara and the rest of the group to scout through the far shelves of the Magic Box. She had a vague recollection of seeing a locating spell book that she had wanted to have a closer look at.

Even after all this time, they still feared her reaction.

Searching fingers paused over the spines along the dark shelf. Concern, regret, sympathy, awkwardness – every flicker of emotion his name evoked from her friends, she let it wash over her, refusing to let her own rise in response. She wouldn't let them rule her anymore. The guilt, fear and doubt she would have to ease away once again from the mind of her loving girlfriend. Her wandering gaze strayed over to the table, to where the blonde witch was smiling as she tried to explain the principles of a magic spell Xander had found, and why it wasn't _quite_ appropriate to the circumstances. An unbidden smile found its way to Willow's lips as she watched the beautiful girl push a golden lock behind her ear, full of limitless patience and fondness for their best friend's blundering attempts at navigating the mystical, which just came naturally for the witches. She was so talented yet completely unburdened by any arrogance in her abilitie. She had taught Willow so much.

She didn't deserve to have any doubts plague her mind about their relationship. She was more than Willow could have ever hoped for. Their love was everything. Turning to face the books again, she quickly pulled out one that looked semi-promising.

Sitting down on the top step, where she could see her friends on the floor below but have some distance, Willow began to toy with the frayed cover of the volume. The chatter drifted up from the bottom of the staircase but didn't quite manage to penetrate her thoughts.

Tara had no reason to fear mention of him. None of them did. That was all ancient history. He was gone, and he was never coming back. She'd sent him away. She'd made her choice. So why would the memory of his once-membership of the group, acknowledgment of his existence, be any risk of an adverse response on her part? Willow released a small sigh, though it didn't relax her fingers that were clenched around the small red book in her lap. Her eyes lazily followed the banter of her friends – watching as Buffy rolled her eyes and agreed to swap books with Xander, who then proceeded to stand up and consult Anya about something as she stood busy counting the day's takings at the till. A detached smile pulled at Willow's lips. Now she understood the concept, the assistant manager of the Magic shop was getting very into the profit handling, business side of human culture. Their world bustled about below her feet, her own life just awaiting her return. All the awkwardness of Xander's slip already forgotten, moved on as if it had never happened. Of course, this was how it always was. They weren't supposed to dwell in the past. And she didn't... as far as anyone else knew.

Like _he_ had never happened.

Glancing down, Willow slowly traced the gold printed letters on the cover under her hands. It was always like that, always the same, every time. It was like he had died. His name a tremor of the volatile and deeply buried grief that had once shaken her whole world to the core. Whispered with all the fear of provoking a devastating after-shock. As if she was that fragile, Willow scoffed under her breath. A ghost no-one tried to speak of. One who had slipped away from their lives, leaving a hailstorm of shock, anger and sadness in his wake. His name mentioned in hushed tones in private, the painful memory tip-toed around in respect to the bereaved. Careless whispers accompanied by furtive looks of concern in her direction. Yet all they would find would be her carefully composed features, schooled into an expression of blank nonchalance. She made sure of that. In a humourless twist of irony, it was a habit she had most likely picked up from _him_. And why would they expect any different? She was long over him after all. Why would his name have any effect on her now?

Willow almost bit down on the lower lip she was worrying when she felt Buffy step up to her hiding place, interrupting her private interlude.

"Hey."

The redhead offered a distracted smile as she hurriedly pulled out of her own thoughts. Buffy sat down to join her on the steps. The Slayer rested her arms across her knees, looking down at the activity below them. The two friends sat in quiet for a moment.

"Are you okay?"

Willow kept her eyes trained on the figures on the floor, mentally probing the tone of the question. She had a feeling it would be pointless to play the fool, but she might try anyway.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Buffy turned her head as the girls finally faced each other, searching her friend's gaze before speaking softly. "I'm sorry about before Will. Xander's mouth doesn't check in with his brain sometimes, you know that." Her tone was light teasing as she coaxed a knowing grin in return from the witch.

"Well, that's true." Willow's gaze swept across the shop again, before falling to her hands that were folded over the still un-opened book on her knees. "But it's fine. It's not like you can't ever mention him. It's not a big deal."

She glanced up and caught the faint, unconvinced frown on Buffy's face and felt the lump gather weight in her throat. Looking away again, she tried to swallow it down. She didn't flinch at the sound of his name anymore. Her heart didn't burn and crumple at the mention of him. Her mind had stopped filling with worry at the current unknown status of his health and whereabouts. She thought she had trained herself quite well. But apparently, Buffy wasn't thrown off so easily. Annoying Slayer sixth-sense.

"Maybe," the blonde conceded after a moment of silence. "But it's still generally not good practice to bring up the one who broke your friend's heart in front of said friend, not to mention their partner." Her voice had slipped into a more personal tone of annoyance that caught Willow's curiosity. Buffy smiled, a little embarrassed. "It's just... Xander had a bad habit of talking about Angel a bit too much in front of Riley also." Willow gave a small sound of understanding and smiled in sympathy.

On the shop floor Tara stood up from the table to return a book, casting a quick glance up at the huddled talking forms of the two friends. Just then, Willow turned back and caught her gaze. Tara smiled up shyly at her girlfriend whose face brightened beautifully as the girls locked eyes across the shop. Reluctantly, the blonde broke away from the stunning smile that lit up her day, and carried on over to the shelves.

Buffy's eyes moved back to her friend's face, a small smile stretching her own lips as she soaked in the quiet love between the couple. Laying her hand over Willow's, she squeezed it gently, quietly conveying her own joy for her friend's much-deserved happiness. The girl looked round, a soft smile still lingering on her face, as she clasped Buffy's hand back in silent gratitude.

"Well, I hate to bail but I gotta pick up Dawn from school," Buffy announced finally, releasing their hold and stretching her back as she prepared to move. "I just wanted to check you were, you know. I mean, I love Xand, but it was pretty thoughtless to bring it up. In front of Tara and everything."

She watched Buffy straighten up and place a hand on the railing, managing to offer up a smile and nod in return as the Slayer descended the stairs into the group below. Her distant eyes followed the movements of her friends, trying desperately to ignore the trapped breath that twisted inside her chest in short, painful gasps.

Tara.

Willow screwed her eyes shut. This wasn't fair! Why couldn't she stamp out that last, entrenched, resistant strong-hold of hurt? The small, hidden well of missage that just couldn't be cried out.

**~o~**


	3. A Voice

** Rendezvous with a Ghost - A Voice  
**

* * *

She didn't know what woke her.

The last traces of her dream skittered out of reach, dispersing like a cloud of breath into the cool air of the dark bedroom. Blinking her sleepy eyes into focus, Willow stretched and turned over in the bed, her gaze falling over the peaceful features of the girl who snuggled into the pillows across from her. A contented smile pulled at the edge of her mouth as she just watched her girlfriend sleeping, so sweetly, in the silent night. Willow fully recognised how lucky she was to wake up to such a wonderful person, who loved her so much, every day. Yet she could never underestimate the importance of these quiet and solid moments in making her appreciate what they had all the more.

Reaching out, she traced the soft golden tresses that framed the face before her in a light caress. Relieved when Tara didn't stir at the brief touch, Willow carefully withdrew and shifted away, slipping quietly out of the bed. She didn't want to wake her. It must be a horribly unsociable hour and heaven knew they all had precious few uninterrupted nights with the constant chaos of their lives. So the restless witch let her love sleep on as she clicked the door shut softly behind her.

The short hall that connected their bedroom to the rest of their small apartment was chilly in the early morning. Shivering, Willow rubbed her bare arms as she wandered through to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She didn't bother turning on the lights, there was enough ambient light coming through the windows that she could see well enough. Besides, she didn't want to risk disturbing Tara.

Pulling her legs into her chest, Willow curled up on the sofa, nursing the icy glass between her hands. Her busy mind bounced along various tracks of thought, unable to settle down on a single rail. Feeling cold again, she pulled an old jumper of Tara's out from the side of the sofa cushions and slipped it on.

Some time later, a frown settled over the redhead as a buzzing sound pushed into her thoughts. It seemed to come and go in regular intervals, and it was really quite annoying. Getting up, she set off in search of the disturbance. She quickly discovered it was coming from her bag, which she had left dropped on the floor, along with a faint flashing purple light. _Oh, right._ Fumbling, Willow quickly dug out her vibrating cell phone, feeling a little foolish and blaming her slowness on her sleep-fogged brain. She didn't recognise the number that flashed up, and anxiousness stirred behind her sleepiness. _Please let everyone be okay,_ she begged silently, though she couldn't think of any good reason why a person would call in the middle of the night.

"Hello?"

There was a long second of pause, during which her panic gained momentum. What had happened? Was it Dawn? Oh god, Buffy...

"Willow?"

She nearly dropped the phone. The last vestiges of sleep sharply fled from her mind and body, which now felt like it had just been doused in buckets of freezing water. Words failed her, her eyes grew wide and her heart shocked to a stand still in her chest – all in the sound of the one voice she could never forget and would recognise anywhere. The same voice she heard in the dreams she wouldn't let herself remember, that whispered in warm breath across the back of her neck in that tantalizing moment between sleep and the waking world. The sweetest music in her world.

"You're okay."

The frozen girl barely heard what came next. Her head was still echoing with the sound of her own name, spoken from _his_ lips. The word had never sounded so painfully beautiful. She had always loved the way he said her name. Soft and intimate somehow, like it was a secret they shared, only for them. How many times had she wished and begged to hear his voice, just to be given months and years of cold silence in return. Why now? What was he trying to do to her? The part of her head still functioning rationally warned her frantically to hang up, but the intoxicating sound of his voice pulled her deeper. Still so mellow, rich with private depths and slightly rough with the late hour of the night. Against every better judgement, she felt herself slipping. She had waited so long...

"O-Oz."

There it was. The name that had hovered on the tip of her tongue uncountable times, that ghosted through her every thought. The one she had shoved away behind that deadlock along with every other tortured memory that belonged to him. The word barely made it out of her tight throat and it sounded cracked and fragile to her ears, dusty from so long unspoken.

There was quiet at the other end of the line, and for a moment Willow could see him. Memory and thought sharpened into perfect picture – those bright, bright eyes closed to the world as he contemplated his next words, features set in that calm mask of pensive thought, sculptured hand maybe pulling at the edges of messily cropped hair. Sharply, Willow yanked herself away from the dangerous images. Reaching behind her, her fingers groped for the solid safety of the wall. When his words did come, they were not what she could have expected.

"I'm sorry."

Willow raised her eyebrows. Sorry? For what exactly? For calling? For never calling? For leaving? For trying to eat her girlfriend? For tearing her only heart out? There was a tired sigh through the phone and she instinctively closed her eyes, feeling a faint shiver run through her. She couldn't get the emotions to stop ricocheting around her head long enough for her to survey the damage.

"How - how did you get this number?" Her tone probably came across more accusing than she intended. Honestly, she was just bewildered and that was the only feeling she could begin to put into words. There was a pause, before his voice floated back through to her, a touch of dry amusement in his response.

"Asked the girl who hacked the Pentagon."

She nearly laughed, despite herself. Leaning her head back against the wall, she let the smile linger on her lips. Willow found she couldn't bring herself to feel indignant or angry. Somehow it didn't feel like an intrusion, not from Oz. Yet the big question soon pushed its way to the front of her mind again. Her thoughts quickly sobered as she murmured the single, loaded word.

"Why?"

There was silence for a heartbeat, and Willow pressed the phone tighter against her ear, trying to catch every quiet breath at the other end of the line. Finally, he answered. "Couldn't sleep." Well that was ironic. There was a small sigh before he continued. "I've been getting this feeling. Like something really wrong is going to happen to you guys." He hesitated before adding in a pained whisper, "to you."

He sounded uncharacteristically awkward, strangely uncertain. Willow listened carefully, unsure how to feel about what he'd just said. She frowned. "You mean like we're in danger?" A gentle note of teasing crept into her voice. "Oz, you do remember what our lives are like, right?"

Mutant Frankensteins, giant snakes, vengeful Hell Gods – to name but a few.

There was a soft laugh in her ear, which pulled a light grin from her lips in return. "Yeah, I remember." There was beat and then his voice seemed to drop away, and she found she had to strain to hear him. "But this, I don't know. This scares me, Will."

He couldn't explain it. Willow – consumed in agony and darkness. Pitch black dreams, desperate howls of despair ripping him apart inside, air collapsing in his lungs... He woke up each time feeling like he had just lived through his own death.

Willow's eyes dropped to the floor as she took in his admission. A fierce ache flared in her chest, causing her to grimace for a second as she waited for it to subside once more. She felt like she should reassure. "Well, I'm okay. See, still breathing and everything."

_Just about_. Swallowing down the weight of emotions in her throat, she let her gaze wander to the gap of velvet sky that peeked though a break in the curtains. She briefly wondered if somewhere out there, wherever that place was at the other end of the phone, maybe he was watching the same sparkling night stars.

_No_. Clamping her jaw tight, she backed hastily away from destructive old habits. She had gone through so much to put them behind her, she couldn't fall victim again just because of this damn fluke. He had no right to do this. To try and open this door again. She curled her free hand into a fist at her side, tightening until she felt the sharp bite of her nails cutting into her palm. He couldn't have it both ways!

_She_ couldn't have it both ways.

His voice slipped in amongst the haze of conflicting emotions. Hauntingly familiar, warm, tempting...

"Breathing is always good."

There was the sound of mutual hesitation, both parties knowing they had to end it but each reluctant to pull away. Willow had never let a silence go on so long, but it was his silence, and it felt wrong to break it. Finally, the low melodic notes of his voice caressed her ear once more, with careful words that felt to crack slightly on impact.

"I just want you to be happy, Willow. That's all that I want."

Moisture burned behind her eyes as the small redhead pulled trembling fingers through her hair, fighting with the harsh laugh in her throat. He had a funny way of showing it.

"Well, I am."

The curt answer shot through the line like a bullet. Willow bit back the reflex apology. She couldn't worry about hurting him, she had to protect herself. She had a terrifying feeling the walls of her defences were already groaning under the surprise assault on her entombed emotions. Besides, she wasn't saying anything that wasn't true. She had an amazing family of great friends, a worthy purpose in fighting for the world, a wonderful girlfriend who she loved with all her heart. One call from the forgotten past, one conversation with her ex-boyfriend, who was probably half-way around the world, wasn't any kind of threat to her current life. Feeling bad, her voice softened. "You don't need to worry about me, Oz. Really."

She didn't know why he still did. Why he still cared like this, when they had hurt each other so much. When there was no way they could be together anymore, when their time had passed and moved on. Her eyes flickered to the dark hall. The pull from the bedroom beyond tugged against the forbidden urge to keep his elusive voice next to her for a few more precious moments. Her whispered conversation suddenly seemed to pierce through the silent apartment, screaming her betrayal. The illicit secret she was taking part in _here_ – in the home she had made together with _Tara_. Wrapped up in her girlfriend's jumper, talking to the only other one she had ever loved. Guilt crashed against her lungs with such a sickening blow, it left her breathless. What was she doing?

"Will-"

"I have to go."

She cut off the painful lure of his voice, not trusting herself to let it soak in for another second. Her knuckles turned white around the phone. She shut her eyes and forced the barely whispered words from her lips.

"Tara might wake up."

She heard the catch in his breath. Or maybe she just imagined it. Dead silence echoed through the connection. She knew how she made it sound, and that was how it needed to be. A simple statement that bluntly reconfirmed to them both how it was. Where her love lay, who her life was with, what her choice was. As if they could ever forget.

"I'm sorry," he repeated slowly, voice as flat and detached as she could ever remember. She had stung him badly, she had to. This could never happen again. "I shouldn't have called," he said almost in an afterthought, more to himself than her. An undercurrent of deep and genuine regret thundered quietly under the words, deaf to all but the trained listener. Willow pushed the aching pain away from her voice, filling her head with images of the sweet face of the girl in the next room. Of everything she meant to her. Everything she wouldn't risk for an empty echo of a love long over.

"No. You shouldn't have."

In a jerky movement, she forced herself to end the call and dropped her arm, letting the phone fall away from her ear. Drawing in a sharp, unsteady breath, Willow finally opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling. It already didn't feel real. His voice just a taunting trick from her own memory. Her chest fluttered with uneven breaths, her vision blurring with hot tears. She could have asked him where he was, what he was doing. Willow shook her head in bitter resolve, making her red locks tangle against the wall behind her. She'd already gone too far in that dangerous indulgence. His presence was too addictive. She already missed his voice. If she let him linger any longer she would want to hear it again, see his face... It was a slippery slope.

She barely resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall. It wasn't supposed to be like this! She didn't love him anymore! That was all finished and over a long time ago. She had moved on. Why couldn't he leave her alone to be happy without him? And why the hell did she still... _miss_ him so much? Willow couldn't understand any of it.

A blinding pain suddenly splintered through her ribcage with unforgiving force. Screwing her face up with a gasp, she pressed a hand tight against her chest as somewhere deep inside, the deadlock shuddered violently. Fisting her hand into the warm cotton of Tara's pastel blue jumper, Willow slid down the wall to drop on the carpet with a soft thud. Her shoulders heaved with muffled sobs, as brimming tears finally broke free and poured down her cheeks. She wrapped an arm around her legs and buried her head into her knees, small silver cell phone still clasped tightly in her fist.

**~o~**


	4. A Memory

Just wanted to say thanks very much to everyone who has taken the time to review this story so far. It means a lot to me :)

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**Rendezvous with a Ghost - A Memory  
**

* * *

She hadn't meant to find it.

If Giles hadn't brought up the Magic Guild, thus making her remember she had purchased a copy of their translations last summer and subsequently offer to find it for them, it may never have been unearthed. Now, as Tara slowly turned the thick folded pages over in her hands, she would have gladly given anything for it to have stayed lost.

She didn't know how it could have survived the move, lain unnoticed all this time. Here, right under their eyes. Stuffed away at the bottom of a chest drawer, under heaps of miscellaneous magic supplies and old papers. She couldn't bring herself to believe Willow would have saved it on purpose. Surely? With a trembling breath, her fingertips danced across the single scrawled word for the tenth time, written in that neat, sloped handwriting that she knew so well. With a glance towards the door, the witch slowly forced her body to move. Cradling her discovery delicately between her hands, she perched on the edge of their bed and tried to understand.

She knew how broken Willow had been when she'd first met her. Still reeling from her sudden loss, she had just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to give her hope. The quiet blonde had seen right away how special her new friend was, how much potential glowed around her, how her sweet, selfless and kind nature made her shine brighter than anyone else Tara had ever met. She'd almost never dared to let herself hope her feelings would ever be reciprocated. How could someone as strong and amazing as Willow ever fall for a girl like her? She was so beautiful and smart, Tara felt like she would have done anything to make her happy, to have her smile that breathtaking smile just for her.

Yet somehow, Willow had seen something in her too. Something precious enough to hold onto, something she could fall in love with. Tara looked up and let her eyes drift over the room, at the way two separate personalities blended together in love throughout the girls' bedroom. She smiled. The shy witch had changed too. She'd grown, become stronger, a better person through knowing Willow and her friends. It was incredible, she'd not only found true love, she'd gained a whole family and a new place in the world. She had never truly believed before that she deserved to be this lucky.

But through it all she had somehow managed to forget, that happiness was always so fragile.

Tara's fingers fumbled as they awkwardly flipped the letter over again. The sole survivor of what must have once been a hefty pack, bursting with unrequited heartache, of senseless grief and loneliness. A broken heart poured out through words into letters that had nowhere to go. She swallowed painfully. The pages had been ripped from a class notebook, crumpled now from so long of being left alone in neglect.

It wasn't sealed. Tara ran her fingertips lightly under the folded sheets of paper. The letter weighed heavily in her hands, the many creased pages thick with private whispers, betrayed emotions, lost love and entangled hearts. The floods of raw feelings that had fallen to this tear-stained paper from the pen of the girl who shared this bed with her. A past she wished desperately to be rid of, but could never seem to quite outrun. It was a piece of history Tara had no place in, and no real desire to delve into. Yet here it was, right in front of her. A key to that part of Willow that she could never touch. A glimpse into the love that haunted their own.

She sighed shakily, her eyes darting over the name imprinted on the front of the unopened letter. It wasn't for her eyes. It never would be. Words destined to be never read by any except the one who had laid them down, all that time ago. The girl who had chosen to spend her life with her. That should be all that matters.

The letter twisted again in agitation, and a soft rustle caught Tara's attention. Bending her head to look through her hands, she saw a small white card had slipped loose from the folds of writing. Reaching down, the girl stiffened as the photo turned over in her fingers. Those same piercing eyes that she could only remember being hardened at her in panicked accusation looked up from the old photo once more, yet they were calm and soft, sparkling at something out of shot. A private, half smile graced his lips – not yet a predator's savage snarl, driven to uncontrollable desperation by her mere presence. His expression mildly amused, yet somehow full of such warmth and quiet love, that it made her fingers tighten around the edges of the small photo and her breath shrink in her lungs.

This was Willow's hidden memories. All that was left of everything she had purged from her life.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't cry over him. She looked down again at the face of the one who came before. He was always there, she realised. The ghost that lingered throughout their whole relationship. Tara's lips trembled and she pressed them tight together. They never spoke of it, sometimes they managed to forget, she would deny it – but they must know.

Oz never left Willow's heart.

But... she was with her, not him. Tara took a deep breath and straightened up, feeling the calming resolve slowly spread through her system. She'd chosen their future, not to return to her old life when it had walked through Giles's door on that fateful morning. Willow loved her, Tara knew that beyond question. Maybe one day, that would be enough to finally clear his stubborn memory from her heart and fill it with their own. _He_ may have held her love for a few years, but _they_ had the rest of their lives together.

Her voice was quiet but firm as she met the unseeing eye of the boy in the picture. "You h-had your chance, you know."

She would never hurt Willow like he had. Never take for granted what he had thrown away. She would love Willow more than he ever could. She would make her happy.

Slipping the photo back into folded pages, Tara stood up from the bed. She looked down once more at the two entwined lives wrapped up together in her hands. Willow had obviously forgotten the painful memento of her past still existed. That it had somehow escaped the destruction that had wiped all other reminders away. Tara could just complete the cleansing of the relationship. It wouldn't take much, to let it burn away into nothing like the rest of its fellows. It would be so easy. She wouldn't have to risk Willow's conflicted heartache if it should ever resurface again. They could be free at last.

A sad smile crossed her lips. She knew she could never do that. As tempting and justified as the action may be, it just wasn't Tara. She could never destroy something of Willow's. And she was all too aware that it wasn't her call to make. Her shoulders slumped in a sigh as she reached her decision. She would only let it stay lost.

Pulling out the drawer, she buried the hurtful item deep into the clutter it had come from. Returned safely once more to its hiding place, she shoved the drawer tight shut and turned and fled the room, before she could even think about changing her mind. The Guild translations lay forgotten on the bookshelves, as the front door of the apartment slammed shut behind the witch.

It was a grave she wouldn't disturb. The fear of what lay beneath was too daunting.

**~o~**


	5. A Glimpse

Happiness and thanks, as ever, to everyone and anyone who takes the time to feedback. You guys are awesome.

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**Rendezvous with a Ghost - A Glimpse  
**

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He knew he shouldn't be here.

Dense, heavy rain continued to pour down from the heavens through splits in the thunderous clouds, framing the depressing scene with appropriate bleakness. He should be a thousand miles away. He should have _stayed_ thousands of miles away. A wry smile drifted through his lips as the boy lowered his head to watch the deepening puddles that soaked through his scuffed boots. He clearly had a hidden masochistic streak somewhere inside when it came to her.

But it wasn't like he had taken the decision lightly. Raising his head once more, he looked across again to the familiar detached house. Just another place he wasn't welcome anymore. Another burnt bridge. Unnaturally sharp eyes caught glimpses of the gathered friends through the wide lounge windows, following movements and laughter undetectable to normal human senses.

Long blonde hair shimmered as the small Slayer stood up from the couch to take something from the extended hand of a weary looking Giles, who proceeded to push slipped glasses up his nose. A slightly unfamiliar girl sat down in the lap of a chatting Xander, who looked faintly embarrassed as she promptly wrapped herself around him in a possessive embrace. If she had aimed to distract him from whatever he had been saying, it had plainly worked.

The faces of a life he had once belonged to. The stoic expression of the observer gave nothing away of the painful memories that stabbed inside his chest with each fresh image of old friends. A world he could never be part of again. A flicker of fair golden waves caught his eye at the edge of the window, where a single figure broke from the collected group, walking away to greet the girl who had just walked in from the hall to join her friends. A shadow of a wince passed over his face, slipping through his carefully constructed wall, forcing his eyes shut momentarily. He felt his hands clench into tight fists as he shoved them deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

He _definitely_ shouldn't be here. He didn't know why he had stuck around this long. It was meant to be a fleeting trip, just to reassure him. To see that all was well and as normal as things ever could be for Sunnydale. To know for himself that she was okay, that his lingering fears were ungrounded.

He should have known better.

His hometown had held nothing but destructive pain for him when he had last crossed that border, and time had done nothing to dull the shards of agony that pierced his heart every time he glimpsed her. Each time he saw her smile at the one who she'd chosen to give her heart to, slip her hand into her love's embrace, whisper her name…

Closing his eyes, Oz concentrated on the steady patter of raindrops as they fell against his face. The cool rivulets that ran down his neck and dripped from the tips of matted eyelashes – crying the tears he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't know why he insisted on wrenching his heart with fresh abuse, never giving it the chance to recover. Why he sought her face out, always from a distance, risking the fragile balance for a spark of fiery hair, a passing glance of bright laughing eyes. To memorise the way she moved just once more, for a reflection of the sweet smile that filled his dreams.

Why he had to hear her voice. He shook his head softly, a rueful smile ghosting over his lips. That had not been one of his better ideas. The sheer breaking beauty of her voice had ripped deeper into his soul than anything else he could have inflicted. Healing and crippling in a single breath. He remembered the pained plead in her words as he realised too late how mutually damaging his weakness had been. He couldn't seem to do anything but hurt her. And Oz would forever loath himself for that.

Pulling his gaze away from the window, his eyes moved to sweep over the whole structure of the Summers residence, absently noting how little it had changed. The buildings that stayed constant as the lives they sheltered changed beyond recognition. Of course, he couldn't begin to hazard a guess at what had passed through the lives of any of the people in that house in his long absence. What craziness and grief may have come and gone, leaving scars of growth behind. People he had known, considered friends, fought beside – now as distant from him as strangers.

Oz ran a hand through his sopping wet hair, which he had left in his natural shade for the last few years. Hair dye was an indulgence he couldn't afford these days anyway.

It had been unpredictable, strangely intriguing, sometimes traumatising and always deadly dangerous – but he couldn't deny how much he missed his old life. The best and worst they'd been through, celebrating in triumphs and consoling in defeat, the thrill and terror of battle. Fighting the most ego-maniacal monsters Hell could throw at them, trying to save the world one demon at a time, but ultimately just trying to save it for each other. For the ones they loved.

His eyes focused again on the group through the rain stained glass. Giles was standing next to Buffy, both studying something spread out on the coffee table, mouths moving in silent words as he gestured down to point at something on the page. That was her world. And he had no place in it anymore. He knew that, and he couldn't resent it. It would always be hers, and he would never deserve it back.

A crack of thunder abruptly exploded over his head, vibrating through the swollen purple clouds, but the boy merely glanced up in acknowledgement. Huh. Maybe an apocalypse was brewing. A dry smirk curved his lips. Sunnydale never failed to disappoint. He could certainly pick his moments.

He couldn't see her anymore, and he didn't know if it was regret or relief that dropped into the pit of his stomach. This had to stop. He couldn't keep this torture up or there'd be nothing left of him worth saving. He was just making it more impossible to ever move on. A sour laugh half-gathered in his chest before dissolving away. Oz already knew that was never going to be an option for him. He was hers, until the bitter end, and he had accepted that a long time ago. It didn't matter if he loved or hated it – it was his burden to bear. Willow was his curse, her hold over him stronger than even the wolf. If only he'd seen it sooner.

He would always be there for her, in his own silence. He would always help her if she needed him to. He would always come home for her.

His clothes were drenched through to the bone, sticking to his wet skin with icy rain, yet it didn't really bother him. It was nothing to the cold that froze him up inside. What he lived with every day. It barely even registered anymore. Mouth set in resigned determination, he finally forced his legs to move in their heavy, water-logged jeans as he turned to walk away from her.

Again.

* * *

Willow's eyes narrowed through the water-streaked window.

The storm was gaining vigor outside, but that wasn't what drew her attention. Her skin prickled and her heart picked up as the feeling that had been following her recently, returned with renewed intensity. Something was out there. Something her instinct saw that her eyes couldn't.

Glancing round at her friends, she debated with herself. Giles was showing Buffy some fresh research he had unearthed from the basement of the Magic Box. Xander was currently in the kitchen, raiding Buffy's cupboards for more study treats, and Anya had gone to "help". Tara had volunteered to go upstairs and reason with Dawn, who had locked Buffy out of her bedroom after another heated row. If anyone could placate the temperamental teen it would be Tara, Willow thought with fondly. It was impossible to stay mad at her, and Willow already suspected Dawn had a favourite spot for the brilliant witch.

Making up her mind, the last Scooby slipped out into the hall. Casting a quick glance in the direction of the stairs, she quickly unlocked the front door and opened it a crack to the wild elements. Hesitating for a second at the wall of solid rain that met her, Willow let her eyes adjust to the grey haze and took a deep breath, before disappearing out into the storm.

She flinched as the hail-like rain pelted her mercilessly, soaking her to the skin within seconds. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Willow tried to ignore the icy pellets driving into her bare arms as she ran down to the bottom of the path. Dropping her arm from her forehead, the girl spun round as she hastily looked left and right down the flooded street. Stinging eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to clear them enough to catch whatever she was so desperately searching for. Something was screaming inside her, urging her on to the shadow she was so close to snatching.

Frowning slightly, the redhead began to jog down the pavement, eyes still scanning over the deserted streets. Electric bolts of lightning streaked across the blackened sky, spreading out in vibrant white veins, the air trembling with the thunder that followed in its wake. But the determined girl would not be distracted. She moved in bursts, steps skipping along before slowing to allow her to search her surroundings anew. Passing a row of parked cars, she suddenly stopped. There, on the other side of the street, moved another figure, head bowed against the relentless downpour. Staring, Willow's eyes flickered to the vehicle parked just a few feet up the street from the rain blurred shadow. Peeling dark blue paint...

Then, before her eyes could trick her again, the figure suddenly turned their head to look back over his shoulder.

The world stopped. Captured forever in single, shattering freeze frame.

The storm raged over their heads, rivers sloshed about their frozen feet, but the two drenched figures were deaf to all but their own thundering hearts. Blind to everything but the dream-like faces of a mutual memory.

Lost and haunted eyes met and locked across the veil of rain that divided them.

_Dark, pained eyes that watched as her heart broke apart in front of him, determined to let it happen._

_Soft lips that pressed against her forehead in a last fleeting kiss of regret._

_Gentle fingers closing round hers in quiet hope._

_Those familiar hands, that she had always loved, clutching into her hair in a final embrace of missed chances._

_A door shutting on their lives together, taking him away from her, without even a look back._

_She was shouting. Her throat ached with it. She felt like she was splitting in two, colliding together and ripping apart in every ragged breath. She shouldn't be here, couldn't be standing right in front of him – the very reason for the constant, gaping crack in her heart. Demanding and accusing, begging and pleading, she didn't even know anymore. Tears she couldn't stop were streaming down her face, swelling up from that endless well with such dangerous force that she could barely draw air, racing with the mocking raindrops that fell upon her cheeks. Her body was breaking, taking her soul with it, and there was nothing they could do. Enraged fists, hardened with unbottled grief, hurt and confusion, continued to beat savagely against his chest as she sobbed through her broken screams. He wouldn't stop her. He would take her abuse and resentment, let her hate him. Let her push him away from her life for the very last time. Those beautiful eyes tightening in silent pain, head tilted away, unable to meet her burning gaze. Nothing he could say. Nothing would change the past. Undo their decisions. Why was he here!_

_A dizzy gasp and the scene shifted.  
_

_Her back slammed into the side of the van, her small body pinned by his stronger one, her hands fisting in his soaked jacket with a mutual need that kept him tight against her. Dripping locks sticking to her neck, mute whispers against her ear, words that could never be spoken. Warm lips crashed into each other like rolling sea tides, guided by pulling stars, moon and nature. The tears kept flowing, but even they couldn't quench the searing kisses that burned her so relentlessly, inside and out. Slick, drenched clothes plastered against them both like a second skin. A frail and unwanted barrier between their entwined forms even as his gently knowing hands skimmed down her body, sweeter than memory and painfully hot with a love too long denied. Salty lips clinging deeply to his as her hands clutched the back of his neck, knotting into his wet spikes, bringing him even closer, unable to let go. Shivering as cooling rain slipped down her spine. His fingers slid up from her waist to sink into tangles of soaking fire, tongue teasing her eager mouth, tasting what they had lived without for so long. Drowning in lost touches and fierce, natural instinct that couldn't be subdued. Defiant to the twin guards of time and distance. Frantic heartbeats echoing each other in a deep, pounding beat as he slowly leaned her further back, pressing them together against the solid surface of his_ _van..._

"Willow!"

She blinked and glanced away, turning automatically to the shout that had broken the spell that had seized her the second his eyes caught hers. The rest of the world came crashing in and Willow reeled for a second as her senses raced to catch up. Dazed, she stared down the street to where Buffy was running to her side. Before she could gather a coherent thought, the Slayer skidded to halt in front of her, splashing up the puddle at her feet.

"Will! Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

The witch blinked dumbly for a second at her friend's worried face, before quickly turning back to look over the street, only to find an empty pavement staring back at her. She panicked. Maybe she had imagined it all? She bit her lip in frightened frustration. Was she losing her mind? Seeing his ghost where there was nothing but air? A distant rumble caught her ears, and she stepped forward to peer down the road – just in time to see a dark van disappear round the end of the street.

"Will?" Feeling a hand clutching lightly at her arm, the small redhead turned back to see Buffy eyeing her with concern. "What is it?"

Willow was quiet as her thoughts clicked and raced into gear. The call wasn't a coincidence. He was really back. Here in town. A determination forced its way through the turmoil and settled over her heart. This couldn't go on. She was no use to her friends when she was this distracted and torn, and they needed her. A resolution set firmly in mind, Willow met Buffy's eye and shook her head with a small smile.

"Um, it, it's nothing," she assured weakly.

Buffy looked unconvinced. Willow hadn't seemed like herself lately. Still, the Slayer knew that if it turned out to be something important, Willow would tell her when she was ready.

"Are you sure?"

Willow glanced out to the empty street for the last time, the knot in her throat making it hard to get the words out. "Y-Yeah. I mean, I thought I saw something...but it wasn't anything. Sorry for dashing off like that."

"Okay," Buffy agreed slowly. She shook some wet hair away from her face and offered a mischievous grin to the redhead. "Well then, may I suggest we retire to the clubhouse? In case you haven't noticed, it's a bit of a monsoon out here!"

The friends shared a grin, and clasping hands they ran back to the shelter of Buffy's house, splashing through every puddle on the way, amidst peals of girlish giggles.

**~o~**


	6. A Meeting

I have been absent from the Buffy fandom for a long time and I am sorry. This very overdue update is dedicated to any readers I have left. Thanks for not giving up on me.

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**Rendezvous with a Ghost – A Meeting**

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_Just keep breathing._

That was the key, Willow assured herself. Her fingers twisted together in anxious knots as she stood her ground in front of the innocuous hotel room door. She'd heard his voice, seen his face, but now she was preparing to confront both at the same time – and Willow was more than a little apprehensive. But she'd made up her mind. This was the only way. One of them had to be strong.

With a deep breath and her resolve face firmly in place, she broke her hands apart and raised her knuckles to rap softly on the door to her unresolved past, before the last of her courage could seep out the soles of her shoes.

She nearly stepped back when the door pulled away from her, opened from the other side.

There was a beat of heavy silence as the boy took in the sight that greeted him. It took a lot to shock Oz after all he'd experienced, but whatever he had been expecting when he opened that door in that moment, it wasn't the girl who stood in front of him now. Yet here she was, bringing with her the confrontation he'd been dreading ever since that fateful moment of contact, framed in the breaking thunder and rolling torrents of a wild storm. The whole encounter had a certain poetic aptness for their relationship that wasn't lost on him.

His gaze flickered over her face, drinking in every inch, before finally falling into her eyes – memorizing every tint and swirl, eyelash and blink, even as he tried to grasp the maze of emotion within them. The only one he ever saw when he closed his eyes and let down his guard. That had looked back from the face of every forgotten girl who had smiled at him since he had left her life, all that time ago. Standing here before him once again, real and more substantial than his most vivid dreams, an uncertain expression upon those beautiful features he knew by heart.

After an eternal second of waiting for a reaction, Oz finally broke the silence, breathing her name out almost like a prayer, "Willow."

The redhead managed a tentative smile, moving her fingers in an awkward little wave. "Hi," she murmured, before mentally grimacing. She didn't do well in these kinds of loaded, intense situations. She tended to fall back on embarrassed, babbling habits. She looked into the typically thoughtful expression of her ex boyfriend and tried to fumble her way through the chaotic emotions and back to the resolve she had come here with. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had been this close to him, and suddenly she just couldn't drink him in enough. He stood with one hand on the door handle, dressed in faded black jeans that brushed the top of bare feet and the printed advert for a San Francisco music festival scrawled across his dark green t-shirt. His hair was a little longer than it had been the last time he had been in Sunnydale, and still just as temptingly mussed as ever. Impossibly sharp emerald eyes were unknowingly mirroring her own as they soaked in every lost detail in each other. Willow felt a rush of unfathomable warmth stir in the pit of her stomach. He just… looked like Oz.

"Can, can I come in?"

He hesitated for only a second before silently moving back and stepping aside to allow Willow to enter. They kept a careful berth from each other as they passed, and the space seemed to hum softly with their distance. Willow's eyes swept quickly over the room – taking in the unmade bed, the carelessly tossed clothes, the small desk in the corner. The faded cream fabric curtains were pulled back from the single window, revealing the bright afternoon sunlight that washed over their town. A few mediation and mythology books rested on the desk, along with small leather bound journal adorned with a symbol that Willow vaguely registered as Tibetan. She tried to think when the next full moon was. She had a feeling it was a few weeks away but couldn't be any more accurate than that. It was a habit she had fallen out of, one that had once been second nature to her.

She felt him close the door behind her, and then nothing but quiet. He was waiting for her. She'd been the once to seek out this meeting after all. Willow released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding ever since she stepped over the threshold. His soft earthy scent immediately filled her lungs, sending a storm of memories surging through her. Maybe she hadn't been ready for this she thought in panic, but it was too late now. Breathing deeply, she tried to clear her head and braced herself to speak to the one person who wouldn't relinquish his hold over her heart. She gazed out the window unseeingly, vaguely registering just how cramped the hotel room was. A space that was probably too small to hold this much history, tangled emotions and unspoken words, all the hurt and layers of tension that fell between them. She was amazed the walls weren't creaking under the pressure of their shared presence.

She just say what she'd come to say and then get out of here as quickly as she could.

"You know, there's a nicer hotel a few blocks over."

Okay that wasn't what she'd come here to say to him, but she was struggling with the oppressive silence. It was mind numbingly irrelevant, but sometimes when you had too much to say, you couldn't say any of it.

"Yeah, I tried it but they weren't receptive to bartering for some reason."

His voice spoke up behind her, still so calm and off-hand in that way that was always unique to him. A familiar smile came to her lips and Willow wrapped her arms around her stomach. He didn't ask her how she'd found him. It would be somewhat redundant considering the company, as he'd pointed out himself. With a sigh, she finally dragged her gaze away from the streets below and forced herself to turn around.

"Look, Oz –"

"I'm leaving."

The carefully prepared speech died in her throat, and not for the first time with them. Willow could only stare at him as déjà vu struck through her heart like a poisoned arrow, ringing in her ears with that same non-negotiable declaration that had reduced her world to a sink hole, one morning so long ago. Repressed grief shocked through her system, an echo so vivid that it physically shook her. A fleeting smile twisted her lips humourlessly as she tossed her head to look over her shoulder – at the half-packed duffle bag that lay at the side of the bed. Well, wasn't that a just_ such_ a familiar sight.

"Of course you are," she muttered, unable to hide the resentment in her words.

Oz frowned so faintly it was almost invisible. "That's what you want isn't it? What you came here to tell me."

Her head whipped around to stare at his impassive face, those guarded eyes that were watching her closely. She nearly laughed at the cruel irony of his words. "Pretty sure what _I _want has never been a big factor in your decisions."

He tensed at her accusation, the memory raw in both their minds. They had been here before – a wretched day long gone that remained an eternal yesterday for both of them. Willow felt angry tears forming behind her eyes as she dragged them both through old wounds, unable to stop herself. Words tumbling out of her that had festered for too long as all good intentions and efforts at civility were quickly ripped down. Any lingering awkwardness was quickly erased in the crash of emotion that exploded inside her, a recklessness she couldn't control.

"Tell me…" Her words shook with thinly veiled grief and fury. "If I had begged you to stay, told you not to go…would it have made any difference?"

Oz looked at her sadly, her fractured voice biting deep into his heart. He forced himself to meet those beautiful eyes, lost in the scars of pain that he had inflicted.

"No," he said finally, almost too soft to hear.

She seemed to almost flinch at the word, clenching her jaw and shifting her gaze away. Oz wished he could take back so much, would give anything to heal those wounds she carried, but he had learnt long ago that wishing for the impossible was the quickest path to despair. He regretted it every day, more than he could ever tell her, but for that moment in time… it was the truth. And he wouldn't lie to her. He'd done too much damage already.

"I had to leave. I was losing myself in the wolf. Hurting people. I had to get control." His voice was patient and firm, filled with that same calmness in the face of destruction that had driven her mad at times.

Oz watched her clench her fists into her sweater, waiting for her to meet his gaze once more. He needed her to understand, to see why it had to be that way. He could have _killed her_. It was just too dangerous – they'd had too many close calls for him to risk it. And he couldn't deny the unbalance of the animal inside him anymore. He needed to find himself again, to understand how to live with his dual identities. He had to learn how to control the wolf before it consumed everything that he was and drowned him in darkness. Oz knew she may never forgive him, but could she not see that staying, knowing he was willingly and selfishly putting her in such danger, was just as unforgivable for him.

He dropped his head with a sigh, "It was the only way."

"Says who!" The fuming anger burst out of her without permission, burning in her throat and chest. With great effort, she managed to withhold the tears from her eyes if not her voice as she glared across the room, fighting back against those painfully stoic features she remembered so well. "You ran away, Oz! That's the bottom line. You screwed up and got scared and instead of trusting me, in us, you went all lone wolf and _left_! You didn't even _try_ to work it out!"

Willow's gaze was unrelenting, as fierce as fire, bright with everything she had kept buried all this time. Her hands were dancing through the air with unconscious gestures, conducting the notes to their own tortured refrain. The sunlight that filled the room, in ignorant cheeriness to their fight, illuminated the soft ruby hair that fell and curled around her face with a brilliant radiance. For a moment Oz almost smiled. Even in blazing anger, she was still beyond beautiful. Yet, he knew he deserved every searing stab of her resentment. He saw that more clearly now than ever, exposed for the first time to the full crushing depths of the grief he had caused. That she was still living with, even now. Shining green eyes narrowed slightly, daring him to contradict her.

Lowering his gaze from hers, he said the only thing he could say. His only excuse for the mess he'd made of their lives. The one wretched truth he could never escape.

"You deserved better," he said quietly, his jaw clenching around the words. "I couldn't stop the wolf from… hurting you."

_Veruca._

The unspoken name of the destructive she-wolf filled the air around them. It still sent a shudder of blinding hurt raging through her blood, yet his own betrayal had cut her far deeper. Willow shook her head stubbornly. "You still let her push us apart. You can't blame the wolf for that. It was _your _decision, Oz. _You_ were the one who walked away – who gave up on us."

"I never did."

The reply was so low, she wasn't sure if she was meant to hear it or not. Willow gave a bitter smirk. "Funny, 'cause it sure seemed like that to me."

Oz wasn't the type to pace, to show his turmoil in such an obvious way as many others would have resorted to in such a tense and raw environment. And he didn't do so now, instead retreating into almost inanimate stillness, that familiar mask of composure betraying no flicker of the unrest that surged just under his skin. He held her gaze calmly, though the emotion that stormed behind those piercing eyes was anything but.

"I always meant to come back."

"Then why did you send for your stuff! Cut off all contact!" Willow demanded in desperation, her voice rising with every shift of her feet, hardly able to keep still in comparison to her former lover. "_Months_, Oz! Months of nothing! No word, no call, no letter! You could have been… _dead _for all I knew!"

His brow crumpled as he watched her choke over the word, finally acknowledging the worst of her fears as she dredged through every ache of loneliness and heartbreak she had suffered in his abandonment. Tears finally fought free from her gleaming eyes, sparkling in the sunlight like pearls upon her soft skin, an honesty so bare that it made it hard to breathe. Over a year of pain and confusion poured from the distraught girl before him, everything that had never been said, left in the dark to corrode for far too long. Oz only realised now, too late, that he had torn through her so much deeper than the wolf ever could have.

His voice barely broke above a whisper as he uttered the inadequate words, yet he meant them more sincerely than she could ever imagine. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you said that already," she muttered, swiping at her cheeks before folding her arms tight and looking away.

Oz felt himself start to crack under the frustration. "What do you want me to say, Willow? I can't go back and change the past anymore than you can." He dropped his gaze with a wince of guilt, his tone weary with resentment. "I'm only as strong as the wolf's weakness."

"It's not the _wolf_ that's weak, Oz," Willow retorted firmly, eyes glittering even as she stood unmoved by his excuses. "It's the _human_. It's the human who lied to me, who chose to bring _her_ into his cage instead of trusting in his friends. It was the human who decided to run, to turn his back, betray everything I loved and break my heart." She held his eyes with determination, refusing to yield at the dark pain that glowed there. "Stop hiding behind the wolf. Stop blaming him for _your _mistakes." Willow turned away, tucking her hair back behind her ear and away from her damp face, frowning out the window. "And even if you could go back – would you really undo any of it? Would you choose to stay instead?"

He was silent. They both knew his answer, he'd already given it. Oz's leaving had always been about more than just Veruca. The fellow musician had simply been the catalyst for the maelstrom of conflict that was forever brewing inside him. Albeit, an evil, skanky and murderous one.

"I don't understand…" Willow drew in a trembling breath, twisting her fingers into the sleeves of her sweater. And she didn't, she truly didn't. She didn't understand how he had survived so calmly what had so nearly destroyed her. "How could you just… walk away from us? Give up on everything, all we were, all we'd gone through. Was our love really so easy to throw away!"

_"Easy?"_

She nearly started at the harshness in his voice, the word slipping out on a low growl. Blazing jade seared into her, burning with a pain and passion that was almost too feral to be human. "Willow, I didn't emerge from the wolf for over a _week_ after..." He stopped himself sharply and looked away, the muscles in his jaw flexing as if he wished he could bite the words back.

Willow blinked, catching the hard swallow in his throat and willing her heartbeat to climb back down into a semi-regular rhythm. Well, that was a first. It was almost unheard of for Oz to burst out emotionally. The last time she could remember such a violent reaction was in the crypt on that awful morning, with Veruca…

Oz cursed himself as he quickly wrestled his temper back under control. A control that was becoming increasingly tenuous. The corner of his mouth twitched wryly. Willow had always been the only one who could break those barriers. His last visit to Sunnydale had proved that beyond question. Oz almost shuddered at the memory of the desperate rage that had consumed his mind that fateful day, the power of a connection that had stolen his senses and nearly cost more than one life. He had thought that the distance would help, ease the brittle tension of his emotions, but he was dismayed to find it was quite the opposite. The first moon back on the road was the worst by far, yet it was no longer fury that drove the wolf over the edge, but grief. Suddenly cast adrift, Oz found himself with no reason to pull away from the instinct of destruction. It was unnerving to realise how much easier it was to deny the sunlight than to fight the darkness. The wolf had sensed the despair that haunted him, the pain that darkened his heart, and had fed on it with a greedy hunger – clinging onto the body that his soul had no will to reclaim.

"Was it worth it?"

The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie and beckoned an empty smile to his lips, too quick to observe. He had thought so. He believed he was doing the right thing for Willow, for them both. That it was necessary in order for him to become the person she needed, to keep her safe from himself. Oz had to hold to that belief or he wouldn't have had the strength to ever leave her. To have kept walking as the sting of her tears tainted the air, weeping from the broken form of the only person he could ever love. Even then, he almost didn't go. That telling hesitation, waver in resolve, his hand slipping from the key and tears stirring behind that last agonized glance back.

Yet he did tame the wolf, conquered his demons into submission and earned his redemption. For her just as much as for himself. It was always her face, her bright smile and consuming love driving his determination on, giving strength when he had none left for himself. She was there behind every lonely night, every painful moon, every lost struggle and small triumph. He finally had some semblance of a cure, he could come home. Or so he'd thought.

One slip, one surprise confrontation, one devastating moment of fear – that was all it had taken to undo months of discipline and training, to hurl him back into the abyss. The control had broken, shattered along with his heart. Knowing he had lost Willow forever. Nothing was worth that. His eyes flickered to hers, a soft intensity glowing behind those emerald waters.

"No."

Willow hadn't seemed to be expecting that. She opened her mouth then shut it again as her heart stumbled over in her chest, echoing with a broken song she had tried so hard to forget. Backing up a step, she hugged her arms around herself, closing up in a defensive gesture of protection. Her eyes pressed shut, a frown crossing her brow as if in pain. "Why did you come back?"

Oz arched an eyebrow, unsure to which disastrous return she was referring. Maybe both. He sighed, carefully pulling back the emotion from his voice, drawing strength from the detached nature that had become his greatest ally.

"You know why, Will."

"No." Sharp green eyes, shining with brimming tears, turned and captured his gaze. Willow set her jaw stubbornly. She wasn't going to let him do the cryptic answer thing, not this time. "Tell me," she demanded quietly.

Oz took in her face and the memory was just too strong.

_Those beautifully familiar lips, trembling as they whispered his name, forehead creased with the effort to hold back the grief that was already slipping free from her eyes. "Don't you love me?" _

Tilting his head up, Oz blinked and focused on the stained cream paint of the ceiling, willing the air back into his lungs. His knuckles were quickly turning white as he shoved them into his pockets, yet he forced his voice to stay level. It was the only way he could still operate, the only way to endure this. He'd been numb for so long...

"I don't mean to torture you, Willow. I know I should have stayed away. Believe me, I know that."

She laughed then, a small, harsh sound that pushed past gentle lips, sounding out of place. "Out of sight, out of mind, huh?"

The words probably came across a little harsher than she intended, but not by that much. Because, damn it, she _was_ angry. Willow was furious. At him, at herself, at their whole screwed up story and the impossible situations it had put them in. And in a strange sort of way, it felt freeing to give into the anger at last. To finally be honest, to confront everything that had gone untouched during his first return to Sunnydale. It felt like they were at last being given an open forum, a stolen scene, scripts torn up and left with nothing to work with but the words of their hearts. It was liberating. Painfully, wonderfully, brutally so. It was like drawing poison from a wound, and once she'd started, Willow found that she couldn't stop.

"You're a _coward_, Oz, and I never thought I would say that about you. You can fight the Hellmouth and you can help save the world, but when things really matter – when it really counts and it's make-or-break – you bail!"

Weighted silence met her outburst for a long moment. Willow tried to regulate her breathing, holding his gaze unflinchingly until he at last broke away. "You should go."

She really should. He was making no attempt to stop her, to block her exit. She had a clear path to door, a clear path out of his life and out of the twisted web of his presence. Five strides. That would be all it took to get her out here. Sever the ties, once and for all. Willow shivered. If only it was that simple.

"Why didn't you fight for us?"

Oz's shoulders slumped so slightly, as if he were losing the reign on his strength. Too tired to fight anymore. "You're better off without me. You're happier without me."

Willow caught the inflection in his reply and eased her confrontational stance somewhat, biting her lip uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you… about Tara," she said at last, her voice softening with remorse, guilt tempering some of the anger from her eyes. "That wasn't fair."

Oz flinched at the mention of the girl he had almost killed in desperate jealousy. He remembered all too well the anger and confusion that had assaulted his mind, tipping the animal beyond his reach as Willow's scent mixed intimately with the awkward blonde in that empty hallway. Taunting him with everything he had lost.

"You love her."

There was no accusation or resentment in his tone. It wasn't a question so much as an acknowledgment, an acceptance of things they couldn't change, the path that had diverged between them.

"I do," Willow murmured, wishing the words sounded more defiant and less like an apology.

Oz nodded, still not meeting her eyes. "Then that's all that matters." He let out a deep breath, almost in defeat. "Willow, despite what you think, I'm not here to cause trouble. I know I'm not what you're looking for anymore, and I can't resent that."

Willow frowned softly. Was that true? She had told herself over and over again that this part of her life, the part with him in it, was finished. Both of them had changed so much, they were different people now. Could they still fit the way they once had? Time had moved on, dragging them into her current, and there was no going back. That was the rules, right? And there were others to consider. Who was to say they were the only ones for each other, that there was even such a thing as _soul mates_. Was Oz meant for someone else, just like she was? And then there was the little matter that Willow was _gay _now. Yet… was the world ever that black and white? Willow wasn't so naïve anymore to think that a person could ever truly conform to such convenient labels; humanity was fluid by its very nature. And _Oz_… was different. He always had been.

"_It was stupid to think you'd just be… waiting."_

"_I was waiting. I feel like a part of me will always be waiting for you." _

_...I'm still waiting._

The silent realisation caught Willow off guard, and she forgot to breathe for a moment. She froze in place as she felt a terrifyingly familiar fear stirring inside her, resonating deep within the vault of emotions she had buried such a long time ago. She hadn't known just how true that would always be for them. It took her a second to realise Oz was still speaking.

"I know we can never go back," he said calmly, far too composed for her liking. "I made my choice, and you made yours."

Willow felt something splinter and crack from that locked place in her soul, a tomb of ghosts clawing at the keyhole with a destructive determination. "Stop it," she hissed through clenched teeth, pleading as much as commanding. She couldn't hear his voice anymore, that haunting melody that was full of such memories and… _love._

The same love that had been there from the beginning, never wavering, throughout her betrayal and his. Enduring stubbornly through distant continents and years of separation. It had been there in the last shaky breath upon her cheek as they embraced for that one final time, holding tight to lost chances under the light of a waning moon. She could still remember the feel of his fingers caressing in her hair, the warmth of his body pressed against her own, the scent of him that lingered softly under Riley's clothes. She had refused to open her eyes as she pulled away from him, fumbling through the silence that followed her as she removed herself awkwardly from the van, not daring to look back. It was his turn to watch her go.

But still it was always there. Something they couldn't escape, something that defined them both, something that wouldn't be denied anymore. There in that same voice that called to her now, vibrating through her blood to reach the core of her locked heart – and everything in her that sang back, begging for release. To return home. To regain all it had lost. Yet Willow fought it with every bit of sanity she had left. Knowing that if she let it in, she may never resurface. She felt her temper snap before she could stop it, helpless against the confusion that roiled up inside her. He wasn't allowed to affect her like this anymore!

"I didn't have a choice!" she all but shouted in despair. "I'll _never_ have a choice!"

She didn't pause to even gage his reaction, rushing on as the flood of memories overwhelmed her. Willow shook her head, speaking more to herself than him as she struggled to voice the tangle of confessions that were seeping through her heart.

"You came back out of _nowhere_! You never gave me any reason to hope, to believe that you'd ever come back to me. And then you attacked Tara, got yourself captured and tortured, and then you took off again! I had no time! I wasn't ready! You fogged everything up... And I_ should_ have told you, I know, but I...I don't know why! I wasn't sure, I didn't think. None of it seemed real..." Willow pulled her fingers through her hair distractedly, as if seeking some comfort from the familiar touch. Searching for something – _anything_ – to try and keep her grounded as her world threatened to dissolve around her all over again. She turned her head, unable or unwilling to look at him.

"I was still so angry, Oz. More than I ever realised at the time. I didn't _want _to forgive you. To let you back in, to give you the chance to explain, to make amends… I _couldn't_ take the risk of falling again. I didn't want to be weak anymore. I was so tired of being so sad, so lonely and broken. I just, I wanted to be strong... and the only strong thing to do was to move on, no matter what. I couldn't stand to think that I could fall apart again so easily – that I was still so connected. Not after everything you did, everything I'd gone through. I _hated _what you could do to me, and I was so scared of giving you the chance to destroy me all over again." She swallowed hard, feeling her throat close up, but forced herself to go on. There was no pulling back now. If this was going to be the last time she ever saw him, then they owed each other the truth if nothing else. She had nothing left to lose anymore. Willow took a deep breath. "So I let you go. Told you that it was too late, told you what I needed to hear myself say – to try and make it all real to me, to put it behind me. I had to, to keep my sanity. I couldn't need you. I didn't want to..."

She almost felt like laughing, a hopelessness that felt dangerously close to hysteria bubbling in her chest. Gods, she had been so stupid. Perhaps even more stupid than him. Willow saw so clearly now just how futile her efforts had been, how empty and selfish her actions. The truth was that they had _never _moved on, not really, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. Because sooner or later all locks would give, all walls would crumble, all facades would fold. Stuff could only ever stay buried for so long.

It would never stop, it would never be over.

"And Tara…" Willow felt her voice break, dropping to a whisper and threatening to abandon her altogether. "She's so good to me, always there, even when no-one else was. She's patient and brave and perfect and…but she's…she's not…" _She's not you._ Willow closed her eyes tight, tears flowing freely down her face. Dear, sweet Tara, who had given a second chance to such a damaged girl, made her life worth living again in a way she thought she had lost for good. Tara made her feel sane, made her feel loved, made her feel safe. And yet here she was – drawn back once again to the darkness of these wild woods, guided only by moonlight and the mournful howls that echoed deep inside her heart. Maybe she was the one who was truly cursed.

Willow felt air fighting inside her lungs like bird's wings, trapped and burning. Could she really bear to tell her loving girlfriend that she was wasting her love on someone who couldn't be saved... who didn't _want_ to be saved. She cared for Tara, she knew that, she loved her. But did she love the beautiful Wicca like she... loved _him?_

It wasn't the same, Willow realised in despair. Not even close.

Tara was more than she had ever deserved, broken and lost as she was, and she couldn't even repay her sweet love. Not completely. Willow had thrown herself into her second chance, this new and tender romance, and she felt frustrated beyond belief to be standing back here, in front of him, all over again. Why did she always end up here? Why couldn't she let him go! Wonderful, gentle Tara, in love with a girl who... belonged to someone else. Willow had held their love up like a shield as she sat in that van with him on that night so long ago. She had declared that she was lost to him, it wasn't their time anymore, and that she had found someone else to share her life with.

But it still wasn't enough. It was never enough to break them.

"Damn it, Oz!" she cried abruptly, her voice fracturing into a thousand cracks, the hourglass of her being shattered. "Why are you _here?_"

"Willow –"

"You can't do this! Don't come back here and...make me..." Tears carved gleaming streaks down her cheeks as she rambled in helpless confusion. Gods, she really was broken beyond repair. All thanks to him. The wound of loss had never healed, and now it was throbbing around the edges like a freshly severed cut. The missing piece that had been ripped from her body, the tear through her soul that she had somehow learned to live without. "I can't do this anymore! I can't..."

"What?" he urged softly, stepping closer, eyes tight and pained as he suffered through her sobs.

She finally met his gaze, tortured emerald searching for a compassion that was beyond their reach. "Oz..."

That final, broken whisper from her lips was the last crippling crack on his defences. That same desperate plea he had ignored on the worst day of his life and had haunted him every moment since. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Oz couldn't bear to see her cry over him, not again. Closing the last step between them, he reached for her and in a movement of instinct that was faster than conscious thought, he kissed her.

**~o~**


End file.
